THE NIGHT BELONGS TO THE SPEAKER

By Celia Cohen
Grapevine Political Writer

June 30 in Legislative Hall is a wild ride, like
Halloween and New Year's and the last day of school all
rolled into one.

It is the final day of the legislative session in
Dover, when the Delaware General Assembly thrashes
through the night, until the waning hours of June 30
become the wee hours of July 1, and people count
themselves lucky if they get home before the sun comes
up.

It is like Halloween, because it is spooky and late
and haunted by things that go bump in the night, where
anything can happen and everything can happen, and there
is always, always a surprise.

It is like New Year's because the political calendar
turns, and like the last day of school because the
legislature is letting out, a giddy time for good-byes
and see-you-next-years.

Some June 30s end with a bang, some with a whimper,
some in rage and some in laughter, and sometimes they
end with a moment to take people's breath away, a shard
of history that will make them proud to answer the
question in years to come, were you there?

This June 30, this island of a weekend when Saturday
turned into Sunday, was one to remember.

Bob Gilligan, the Democratic speaker who is the only
Delawarean ever to serve 40 years in the legislature,
stunningly called it quits. He left to hallelujahs of
glory.

Governors rarely go into the legislative chambers,
except for ceremonial occasions like the State of the
State, but there was Jack Markell, who became the
Democratic governor four years ago when Gilligan became
the speaker, drawn like the rest of the people who
crowded into the House of Representatives for the
farewells.

"In my view, Mr. Speaker, not only are you the best
speaker of the House the state has ever had, but the
best speaker of the House any state has ever had,"
Markell said.

All session long, there has been a guessing game,
would Gilligan run?

It looked at first as though he would not. Back in
January, he threw himself a "70-40" party at the Mill
Creek fire hall in his district to mark his 70th
birthday and 40th year in the legislature, and it seemed
telling the event was not a fund-raiser.

From there, he appeared to waver, back and forth,
back and forth. He would not say what he was thinking
and could get surly if pressed.

Then he filed for re-election about two weeks ago,
and that seemed to be that, but it was a false spring.
He told the House he did it to get himself going, but it
actually pushed him the other way.

"It's been in the pit of my stomach for the last
year," Gilligan said.

In four decades in Dover, Gilligan has been a member
of the Joint Finance Committee, a majority leader, a
minority whip and minority leader, as well as the
speaker.

He brought the Democrats back from a dismal 12-member
minority in the 41-member chamber in 2002 to the
majority in 2008, and in all of his years in leadership,
he was steadfast in working cooperatively with all of
the governors, regardless of party.

"You stick by your governor through thick and thin,
taxes and all," said Valerie Longhurst, the Democratic
majority whip.

Gilligan was an educator by profession, and it was
the right choice, because he was a born teacher.
Sometimes he seemed more like the principal of the House
than the speaker of the House, guiding and protecting
and demanding when he had to.

Oh, he could be a pain. Anyone who ran into the wall
of forbidding silence he could erect in rebuke or
refusal or plain orneriness knew it. But it never
lasted.

This is the House that Gilligan built. . . .

He promised, as the session began, he would be not
the Democratic speaker but the speaker of all of the
House, because he believed all constituents deserved to
have a meaningful voice. He had also been in the
minority a very long time himself.

He opened up the legislature to the public eye by
pushing through a long-languishing Freedom of
Information Act, championed by Karen Peterson, a
Democratic senator he once coached in basketball at St.
Elizabeth High School in Wilmington a lifetime ago.

He gaveled the chamber into session on time in a
legislature where indifferent lateness is a constant
curse and delay can be used as a political weapon, a
seemingly small practice that grew to be recognized as
an abiding sign of respect for the institution, the
members and the public who entered there. It is his
legacy.

"The one thing you'll remember about Gilligan is he
started on time," Gilligan said.

This is the House that Gilligan built. As his fellow
representatives saluted him, they rose from their seats
and they applauded and they shouted and they whistled,
Democrats and Republicans, upstaters and downstaters,
all as one.

In a valedictory moment, Gilligan came down from the
podium to floor-manage one last bill expanding the
Freedom of Information Act. He turned the gavel over to
Biff Lee, the most senior Republican representative who
is retiring after 22 years, and he handled the bill from
Lee's desk on the minority side.

The bill was approved without a hitch, although it
turned out, that was not the plan in a place that can
tease and haze with the best of them, particularly when
the target is a rookie representative running a first
bill.

"We had some people who wanted to treat his final
bill as his first bill, but they chickened out," said
Pete Schwartzkopf, the Democratic majority leader.